


What's a Heaven For?

by A_Farnese



Series: Penumbra [10]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-30
Updated: 2014-12-30
Packaged: 2018-03-04 07:39:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3002216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Farnese/pseuds/A_Farnese
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Politics collide with matters of the heart when a marriage proposal arrives for Arthur from a neighboring kingdom, while elsewhere, the first signs of strain appear in the fragile peace Arthur has begun to build between Camelot and the magical world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What's a Heaven For?

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: 'Merlin' and its characters are not mine. No money is being made from this.

Darkness had fallen over Camelot. Not just nightfall which fell over the land, regular as breathing. That would have been tolerable. The night, with its secrets and hidden evils was bearable. One merely had to wait for the dawn. This current darkness, this self-inflicted shadow, was one that Lord Barden Pynell had thought was long past, but it seemed that he was wrong.

Magic had returned to Camelot.

The men on the council swore the young sorcerer had had nothing to do with it, that he had been too sick to stand when Arthur began talking of rescinding his father's laws. But that didn't account for the years the boy had been at the king's side, whispering his poison into Arthur's ear, pretending that sorcery wasn't a plague on the land and that it didn't drive its practitioners mad with power. Didn't he see what it had done to the Lady Morgana? But then, Arthur hadn't been alive when the witches of the Isle of the Blessed had held their sway over the land. He didn't know.

Uther had been so desperate for an heir in those days. His youth was a memory even then, and he was growing no younger. Then Nimueh had whispered in his ear, made her suggestions, and told the king he could have his longed-for son. She never told him the price they would pay, never told them that Ygraine would bleed to death giving birth to that squalling infant. She never said how the Queen's death would drive Uther half-mad.

Pynell narrowed his eyes as he strode down the corridor, lost in memory. He'd been half in love with Ygraine, even after her marriage to Uther. Half the court had, in truth. It was hard not to. She had been so beautiful, so lively- a bright songbird next to the dour crow that Uther had been. Pynell had made this observation often. Especially to Uther. How it had made the old king laugh. Ygraine, too. She had stayed that way, too, bright and beautiful until the day she died. How black the court had been after that, even with the newborn prince's shrieks echoing through the halls, Everything changed. Then the Purge came, and for a while, there had been peace.

He stopped short. A thin figure stood with his back to him, silhouetted against a window. He didn't need to see the face to recognize him. He'd seen the boy running after Arthur long enough to recognize Merlin on sight.

He's heard rumors about the sorcerer since he'd come back from Tintagel. They said he'd been sent to the pyre at Blackheath, that he'd been burned alive, that he'd died and come back from the dead. They said he was blind, but could see despite it. Rumor said many things, though, and little of it was truth. _"Come back from the dead, indeed. He's as mortal as any other. I could prove that well enough. "_

He could, Pynell realized.

He could do it, finish off the job he'd started the previous autumn. It was a bare ten paces to where the boy stood, defenceless save for whatever showy magics he could throw around. All he needed to do was mark ten, quiet paces and take out the sorcerer's throat. Simple enough, and no one would ever know who had done it, not down a lonely corridor in the dead of night. Anyone could have done it. Pynell's breath quickened. His hand tightened on the hilt of his dagger.

"I've heard it said that a man should only draw the blade he intends to use," the sorcerer said without turning. "So what's it to be, My Lord Pynell? Will you draw your blade or not?"

Pynell let go of the dagger, drawing himself up to his full height. He watched the boy, waiting for his next move. The slightest provocation was all he needed.

Merlin was still, save for a tilting of his head as he listened. "I am not your enemy, My Lord," he said quietly.

"You are my bitterest enemy. You and all your kind, boy," Pynell rumbled, "I have spent more than twenty years of my life ridding the lands of the cancer that is magic. I don't know what tales you've been whispering into the king's ear, but I know better than he what you and your kind are. Unnatural. Freaks of nature. Uther did a great thing when he began the Great Purge, but he didn't go far enough. Whatever you did to twist Arthur into legalizing magic once more, I will make it my life's work to undo it, and to see you ended, sorcerer."

"You seem to think that Arthur doesn't have a mind of his own. I'd like to see you accuse him of that at court one day. The privy council could laugh about it," the boy smirked. "But I wonder, My Lord, when you say you'll make this matter your life's work, just how far will you go to accomplish it? Will you argue about it in council until you run out of breath? Or, when you fail to sway the king's mind with words, will you rise up and rebel against him?"

"I am no traitor, boy," Pynell spat out the last, "My allegiance is to Camelot and to the Pendragon line, and it runs deeper and truer than anything a freak of nature like you could understand."

The boy smiled sadly, turning so his face was in profile. "It's true, I am a freak. Something nature never tried before, and likely never will again. But you're wrong, My Lord, when you say I don't understand loyalty. I understand it too well." He ran his fingertips along the windowsill. "When you've set aside your own wants, ignored your own needs, when you've denied yourself your heart's desire for the sake of another, for the sake of your country, then you can tell me about loyalty. All I've seen from you is a man driven by his own fears, his own small-mindedness. My Lord."

"You dare-" Pynell grabbed for his dagger. "You dare to call me fearful! I have fought battles you couldn't imagine, boy, and all of them in the name of Camelot." He stepped a pace forward before controlling himself. _'Never strike in anger'_ , he had been taught once. He took a long breath. "You arrogant little snipe. I don't know how you managed to worm your way into Arthur's good graces, but I swear on everything that is holy that I will end you," he hissed the last.

Merlin turned then, one hand on the wall for support. Bleached by the moonlight, his eyes were colorless, lucent in the darkness. Glassy as those eyes were, the sorcerer seemed to be looking at him and through him, examining Pynell to the core. He struggled not to back away, cowed by a sudden sense of power that radiated off the man. "There is nothing in the world I would not do to protect Arthur- and Camelot- from those who threaten them. In any way. Fear not for what I might do, My Lord. Look to your own fortunes. A day will come when your true colors will be revealed to all, and on that day you will stand alone."

"Your fine words will not save you, sorcerer," Pynell growled. He made a rude gesture as he spun on a heel and stalked away, unwilling or unable to counter Merlin's words.

Perhaps, if he had paused to look back he would have seen the sorcerer's moment of weakness, watched him nearly collapse against the wall, a hand to his brow and a pained expression on his face. Had he turned to see that, he might have carried out his threat before even he expected to. But Pynell was too angry to stop.

And if he had stopped lying to himself, he might have admitted that he was too afraid to turn back.

* * *

". . . and Arthur wouldn't say what it was about?"

"No," Merlin said, offering Guinevere a smile as she took his arm again. The crisp scent of lavender hung heavily around them, overpowering the rest of the offerings from the market's flower stall. "All he would say is that I couldn't possibly have any experience with whatever the matter was, and so I should quit hovering and go do something else."

"What would you not have experience in?" Lancelot asked. He brushed past Merlin, dodging some other market-goer rushing off to do some errand before the shops closed for the evening. The knight's footsteps faltered again as Cabal nosed between them. Merlin tightened his grip on the dog's lead. "Busy day today," Lancelot remarked, closing the gap between them to keep other passers-by from colliding with the little group.

"There's a rainstorm coming," Merlin said, "Everyone wants to get home before it gets here." He scratched Cabal's ears. The hound pressed against him, begging for more. "And I have no idea what Arthur's on about. Whatever it was made him cross, and you know how he gets when he's cross." Guinevere chuckled at that. "So I decided to let the matter lie and enjoy the rest of the day. It's not like I get that many days off."

It was true. Even without his sight, Arthur had plenty of work for him. He spent most days tutoring the king on the finer points of law and history, and when he wasn't with Arthur, he taught herbalism to Aimery and Stilicho. He even went on the occasional- if placid- ride with Arthur and the knights, trusting Altair not to jump at shadows or dump him in a hazel thicket.

"Well, I'm glad you decided to spend the day with us. I don't get to see you as often anymore." Guinevere squeezed his arm.

"And here I thought you'd be sick of me after everything I put you through over the winter," he said, smiling to take any heat out of his words. She had, after all, been at his side every day, putting up with his surly moods and complaints during his recovery.

"You didn't put me through anything I couldn't handle. Besides. After all that happened, I think you earned the right to be grumpy. Careful!" Guinevere grabbed Merlin's arm as he stumbled over a loose paving stone. Lancelot caught his other arm, and together they kept the sorcerer upright until he found his footing. Merlin felt the wary gazes of passers-by watching the tableau, as though they expected some burst of magic from the warlock. Whether they were disappointed or relieved when nothing happened, Merlin couldn't say.

"Are you all right?" Lancelot asked. Merlin nodded, and the knight let go of his arm. "I thought you had some sort of spell to help you see?"

"I do," Merlin lowered his voice, "But magic makes people uncomfortable. I like getting out of the castle once in a while, and I'd rather not scare people for no good reason. If going outside for a bit means I have to be 'Poor, Blind Merlin' for a few hours, then so be it. Besides. Keeping that spell active all day is exhausting. And anyway," he draped his arm around Guinevere's shoulders, "How often do I get to wander the market with a pretty girl to lead me about?"

"Merlin!" Guinevere tried to scold him but laughed instead, settling for playfully batting him in the gut. "What would Arthur say if he heard you?"

"Arthur has nothing to worry about, Gwen. Not when it comes to you. Just about everything else, but never you." He gave her a one-armed hug before releasing her shoulders so she could take his arm again. Happiness radiated from her, and he took a moment to soak in it while they walked.

"Speaking of worries," Lancelot hesitantly broke the quiet, "Lord Pynell has been. . . vocal about magic returning to Camelot. He accuses you of poisoning Arthur's mind, among other things. Has he given you any trouble?"

Merlin's fingers tightened around Cabal's lead. "We exchanged some words one night, a few days before Beltaine. But nothing's come of it, so can we talk about something else?"

"Merlin, what happened?" Lancelot asked. It was clear he wasn't going to let go of the issue. Merlin sighed and turned his face away. "Did he threaten you? Tell me the truth."

"Can we not talk about it here, in the middle of everything?" Merlin asked. Magic was legal again, but it didn't mean everyone was comfortable with it. Nor was it wise to discuss an antagonistic encounter with one of the highest lords of the land in the middle of a busy market. Lancelot grudgingly assented to this bit of sense before he all but dragged them back to the castle, depositing his reluctant charge in Gaius's empty chambers.

"All right. We're somewhere private. Now tell me what happened between you and Pynell. You said it was just before Beltaine, but Merlin, that was over two weeks ago. Why haven't you said anything?" Lancelot sat him down in a chair by the table and dragged another one over to sit down, too. There was a rustling from deeper in the room; no doubt Guinevere was shuffling around, collecting food or something to drink.

"Would it have mattered if I had?" Cabal pressed against the bench. He rested a hand on the dog's head. "We exchanged words, not blows. Magic may be legal now, be he's still a high lord of Camelot. I'm just a servant."

"You are more than 'just' a servant, Merlin," Guinevere pressed a mug into his hands. Honeyed tea, by the sweet scent. "You're Arthur's friend. You're high in his favor. That has to count for something."

"High in his favor, yes, but high as I could rise, how much faster could I fall?" He wrapped his braced hands around the mug, its warmth suddenly welcome. "Pynell isn't the only one who thinks I talked Arthur into rescinding his father's law, and he's not the only noble of great standing who hates magic. Besides that, there are others who don't give a whit about magic, but are jealous of the fact that a bastard peasant boy from a foreign land has the king's ear. I may have my freedom now, but I'm still walking on a razor's edge. If I take one wrong step, irritate the wrong person, I could end up with half a dozen knives planted in my back."

"Merlin," Lancelot said roughly. He heard the knight move, felt his hands on his shoulders. He kept himself from flinching at the unexpected touch. It stirred up uncomfortable memories. "You are a citizen of Camelot. You are protected by the same laws and entitled to the same rights as everyone else, and that includes the right not to have your life threatened in your own home. You understand that, don't you?"

"I do," Merlin offered him a wan smile, "But the practice is different from the theory. People don't change just because you want them to."

"You're right," Lancelot admitted, "But Arthur still needs to be told. No, Merlin," he cut off the warlock's protest before it could start. "I'm going to tell Arthur of this because he needs to be prepared. What if Pynell carries out his threat and you're not alone when it happens? What if Gaius or Guinevere were caught in the crossfire, or- god forbid- Arthur? I would expect you of all people to take the possible consequences into account."

He rolled his shoulders to dislodge Lancelot's hands. The knight's closeness, the warmth of his breath, the faint scent of sweat reminded Merlin too much of that dark hole under Blackheath. "You will do as you must. I just don't want to cause trouble."

"I know, Merlin. And I just want to keep you safe." Lancelot hesitantly brushed his arm, then pulled his hand away. "I'll go now to speak with Arthur. Guinevere?"

"I'll be here."

Merlin's fingers tightened around the mug. He closed his eyes and bowed his head once the door had closed behind the knight. He took a long breath, trying to sweep away the memories that had stirred and calm his own temper.

"Merlin?"

"I am not incapable of defending myself. I may be blind, but I'm not helpless," Merlin said. Cabal whined and rested his head on Merlin's knee, bringing a faint smile to the warlock's face.

"I know," Guinevere said gently, "And Lancelot knows it, too. Be he worries. We all do." She settled into the chair the knight had vacated, her fingers brushing his arm before she pulled them away. "After everything you've been through this past year, we know you're perfectly able to take care of yourself. But that doesn't stop us from worrying about you, just like you worry about the rest of us. And don't try to say that we shouldn't." She patted his hand, and this time he didn't flinch from the touch.

"It was such a lovely day, wasn't it?" he asked after a while, "It was warm, the sun was shining, and everyone at the market was happy. You bought the first flowers of the year." His smile faded. "Do you think there will be a day when the world leaves me alone, when some innocent little thing won't remind me of . . . "

"Of Blackheath?"

He nodded. "It all comes back around to that, doesn't it? Even this business with Pynell seems to drag it back out. It just circles back around, time and time again." He swallowed back the tears that threatened, drawing in another long breath to control himself. "Do me a favor, Gwen?"

"Anything," she said.

Remind me, now and then, what it's like to be happy. Can you do that? For me? I think you're the happiest person I've ever met. And you always will be." He sent a wavering smile in her direction.

"Merlin. . . " She wrapped her hands around his. "You won't always be sad. One day, you will be happy again, as you always were. And don't tell me you weren't before last winter. I know better. You will be happy again."

"How can you know that?"

"Because I know you." She kissed his fingers. "Even when times are their very darkest, you find a way to shine. It's one of the many reasons you are so well loved."

"Flatterer," he said, but his smile broadened in spite of himself.

"See? Look at you shining," she said. They sat in companionable silence for a while before she sighed. "It's already getting dark. I should go. Lady Drusilla will be looking for me. Do you need anything before Gaius gets back?"

"No. And even if I did, I can fend for myself." He got to his feet and silently cast his seeing spell, not bothering to hide golden flash of his eyes from Guinevere. "There. See? Now I can see you, too. After a fashion."

She laughed. "I hope I don't look too terrible. My hair is just awful today."

If it was, Merlin couldn't tell. To his inner eye, she was radiant and crowned with silvery light. "You look beautiful. Now go on. You don't want to keep Drusilla waiting. I'll see you tomorrow."

* * *

_"To His Gracious Majesty, Arthur, King of Camelot,_

_I, Rodor, King of Nemeth and its surrounding Isles, send you our warmest greetings . . . "_

Arthur rubbed his eyes and shoved the letter away, wincing as he knocked it and a reed pen to the floor. He pushed to his feet and walked around the desk to retrieve them, carelessly tossing them back into place. Outside, the city had fallen silent and dark. The hour was later than he'd thought- long past midnight. He glanced over at the bed. The thought of pulling the covers over his head and ignoring his problems was a tempting one, but said problems would just follow him into his dreams. He poured a cup of wine instead and wandered out of his chambers. A walk would do him good. The guards snapped to attention and he waved them off, heading in whatever direction suited his passing fancy. Surely he was safe enough in his own castle? If his endless stream of worries didn't kill him, that is.

Lancelot had brought him unwelcome news to add to those worries, that Pynell had threatened Merlin's life and the sorcerer hadn't bothered to mention it.

 _'He didn't want to trouble anyone with it,'_ Lancelot had said.

Typical. Merlin was so used to hiding in the shadows and keeping his problems to himself that he barely knew how to ask for help. _"I would say 'Thank You' for not wanting to add to my cares, Merlin, but I need to know about risks to the security of the court."_

Then there was the letter from Nemeth, the marriage proposal to the Princess Mithian. That a king should marry a woman he had never met was nothing new. Royal marriages were political arrangements not love matches, though his councilors assured him that love often grew out of them, as it had with his parents. But Uther hadn't had his own Guinevere to think of, nor had he bothered to be faithful to his lawfully wedded wife. _'And that ended up so splendidly.'_ He sighed.

A better example of fidelity came from Merlin's parents who, though unmarried and separated from each other for more than twenty years, had been faithful to each other. His councilors would scoff at the comparison, but lessons of grace and love came from strange places these days. Low places, some would say. Merlin would say that it didn't matter where the lesson came from, so long as it was well-learned.

 _"Speak of the devil."_ Arthur smirked as he spied a thin, gray figure at the end of the corridor. Merlin leaned against a windowsill, elbows on the ledge, his head tilted as he listened to the rain pattering against the window. He could tell the sorcerer had been standing there for a long time, since Cabal had curled up at his feet and dozed off. Arthur quieted his steps as he closed the distance, not wanting to disturb Merlin's peace. God knew he'd had little enough of it in the past months. He stopped half a dozen paces away to lean against the wall and sip his wine. And maybe to listen to the rain, too.

Merlin smiled. "Are you going to stand there all night, Arthur?"

"People think you're strange when you do that, you know."

"People always thought I was strange. Now they know why," Merlin chuckled. There was flash of gold, and he turned to look at the king with that strange gaze that both looked at you and through you. Arthur suppressed the chill that ran down his spine. "What is it?"

"I talked to Lancelot today. He told me about Pynell." Merlin sighed. "Why didn't you tell anyone about it?" Arthur closed the gap between them, stopping an arm's length away.

Merlin's glassy gaze turned toward the window and the rain beyond, his fingers tapping idly against the stone sill. "I've been threatened before. It's nothing new. I've always handled it just fine on my own. You have enough to worry about without my adding to it."

"Let me count my own worries. If you're ever threatened again, tell me. I can't prepare for a threat I don't know about. All right?" Merlin didn't reply. "Are you listening to me?" Arthur moved to lay a hand on the sorcerer's shoulder, then stopped. Merlin couldn't look him in the eye anymore, not really, and unexpected touch often set him on edge, stirring up memories best left alone and plunging him into a melancholy mood that lingered for hours.

"Merlin, things aren't the way they were a year ago. You don't have to keep everything to yourself. Just . . . Promise me that if someone levels a threat against you, you'll tell me, or Leon, or whoever. Do you hear me?"

Merlin finally nodded. "I promise," he said softly, "I'm . . . not used to asking for help. Or hearing this kind of sentiment out of you," he smirked, then the smile softened and he turned back to Arthur. "There's something else bothering you, isn't there? You don't wander the halls at night unless there's something on your mind."

"Changing the subject then, are we?" Arthur downed the last of his wine and set the cup on the windowsill. "Let's walk, then. I don't feel like standing about. Not that I expect you to know anything about the subject, with you being . . . You."

"Whatever that's supposed to mean." Merlin snapped his fingers at Cabal. The hound stirred, jaws opening in a wide yawn as he stretched and lurched to his feet. "This way, then? The gallery's where I usually end up," he gestured back down the hall toward a mess of criss-crossing staircases overlooking a gallery lined with high vaulting and stained glass windows. Merlin couldn't appreciate the beauty of the colored light filtering over the stonework anymore, but he could hear the echoing rainfall.

"Where you _usually_ end up?" Arthur raised an eyebrow, looking sidewards at Merlin.

He shrugged, "I don't . . . I don't always sleep well. And Gaius snores. So I go out walking. But that's not the point. What's bothering you?"

'Where to begin?' Arthur licked his lips, as he sorted out his thoughts. "You know that, over the past few months, we've been trying to strengthen our ties to Nemeth."

"How could I forget? We've spent so much time on it, I think I've memorized all the trade agreements Camelot's made with them for the past fifteen years," Merlin said. His fingertips made a faint scraping sound as he dragged them along the wall. Yet another method for him to find his way.

"Yes, well," Arthur hesitated, "I received another proposal today, and, uh, it had nothing to do with trade. It. . . it was a proposal of marriage. To Rodor's daughter, Princess Mithian. The terms are generous, it would mean that our children would inherit two kingdoms combined into one, and it makes perfect sense from a political standpoint, but I- I don't know." Arthur shook his head and raked a hand through his hair. "It's like that business with Elena all over again. Neither of us wanted it, but our fathers did, and. . . I don't know why I'm telling you this, Merlin, it's not like you've ever had experience with love. " He walked on a few paces before he noticed that Merlin wasn't at his side anymore.

Merlin had stopped, his eyes closed, an expression of old regret and loss written upon his face. "I'm not made of stone," he said, hardly loud enough to hear.

"What do you mean? What, you? And a girl? Oh. Well. Well done, then. I never thought, well, you just never seemed to show an interest. In anyone. When was this?"

"A long time ago."

Arthur grinned, "Merlin, you're hardly old enough to have 'a long time ago' in your life. Tell me. What sort of girl is interested in you, of all people?"

There was a bitter edge to Merlin's smile. It made Arthur want to mutter an apology to his friend, but the sorcerer spoke before he could. "Her name was Freya, and she . . . was beautiful." The edge left Merlin's smile, leaving only traces of sweetness and sorrow behind. "She was a Druid, and she was like me- afraid of what she was, of what she could do. I'd never met anyone like her before. How could I not fall head over heels? And somehow, she loved me, too. Who would have thought it? A freak like me," His smile fell away. Arthur wanted to stop him there, tell the sorcerer he wasn't a freak, but Merlin went on.

"We were going to run away together, go somewhere we could be free. To the mountains." Merlin turned away, but not before Arthur saw tears gather in his eyes.

He thought he'd heard all Merlin's secrets. Now he wondered just how many untold stories weighed down those thin shoulders. "But you never left, and I never heard of her. Merlin, what . . . ?"

The sorcerer let out a shaky breath and swiped at his eyes. "Freya was a Druid who did not come to Camelot of her own free will," Merlin said, each word spoken with careful deliberation.

"What happened to her?"

"Arthur," Merlin breathed, suddenly very still, as though he were pulling everything about himself inward to shelter it from some great storm. "Please don't ask me that."

 _"Did he watch her burn?"_ Arthur wondered. He nodded, opened his mouth to say something, then changed his mind. "All right. But why have you never even mentioned her in all this time?"

Merlin smiled sadly, "Because there are some things that are best left to the past, some ghosts are best left behind." He drew in a long breath and let it out slowly. "You were talking about the Princess Mithian?"

Arthur studied Merlin for a long moment, waiting. Then it was clear that the floodgates were closed and he would hear nothing more about Freya tonight. Or perhaps ever again. "Yes. Princess Mithian. I've never met her before. I've never even seen her. I don't think she's ever left Nemeth. They say she's beautiful and intelligent, but I have nothing but the envoy's word to go on. Mind the stairs," he said, keeping to the sorcerer's slower pace as they descended. "But it's the envoy's duty to present everything about Nemeth- including its royalty- in the best light possible, so he's not the most trustworthy when it comes to describing the Princess."

"It is his duty. But that's not what's bothering you, is it?"

Arthur pursed his lips. "No, it's not. It's. . . Mithian was betrothed to Odin's son when she was a girl. They were, I think, a year or two away from the wedding day when he and I dueled, and you know what happened then. After that, she was promised to Cenred, and then he died. It's like the poor girl's cursed or something, and I . . " he shook his head. He knew what he wanted to say, but his lips refused to shape the words.

"You feel like if you turned her down, it would seem like you didn't think she'd make a proper queen, but if you said yes to the proposal, you'd be marrying her out of pity?" Merlin paused on the stairs, half-turning to face the king. Arthur nodded, eyes downcast. "Do you think it would make her love Camelot- and you- all the more if she knew you'd married her because you pitied her? Would it make either of you happy, knowing that stood between you?"

Arthur's gaze fell to his feet. "No. I can't see how it would. But what would I tell her? What reason could I give that wouldn't make it sound like I had rejected her out of hand?"

"That's simple enough," Merlin said. "Tell her the truth."

"What truth?"

Merlin smiled. "You really are a complete cabbage-head sometimes." Arthur looked sharply back at the sorcerer. "The truth you hardly want to admit to yourself- that there is no queen, princess, or noble lady in all the lands who you'd be happy with. That the woman you love is a lowly  serving girl. A blacksmith’s daughter. Admit it. You'd give away everything you had if it would make Guinevere happy."

"I wouldn't give my kingdom to just anyone," Arthur murmured, remembering a deal he'd once refused on a cold winter's day. But Merlin was right. He had told Guinevere the same thing once. He puffed out a breath, leveling a stern glare at Merlin. "If you're so full of answers, how do I tell Mithian that a serving girl trumps a princess?"

"If it's not enough to tell a princess that your heart is set another," he shrugged, "then call it freedom."

"Freedom?"

"Freedom. Speaking from experience, it's the greatest gift you can give anyone." Merlin's smile brightened. "Look at it this way. King Rodor is an old man, with an old man's infirmities. Mithian is his only living child and sole heir."

"She has cousins."

"If she has half the wit, a third the charm, and a tenth the beauty Nemeth's envoy claims she has, then she already has them wrapped around her little finger, begging to do her bidding. Someday, Princess Mithian will be a Queen in her own right. If she isn't married by then, she'll be able to wed whoever she chooses and find happiness on her own terms. That sounds like freedom to me," Merlin said.

"So. You want me to tell Princess Mithian that I won't marry her because I'm in love with a servant, and this refusal is in her own best interest because someday she might meet some bloke she can't live without, and then everything will be all sunshine and rainbows?" Arthur folded his arms in front of him, leveling a glare at the sorcerer. "I'm starting to think you really don't know what you're talking about."

Merlin rolled his eyes. "Are you ever going to admit to yourself that you'll never be happy with anyone but Guinevere?" Arthur raised an eyebrow in response, though the gesture went unnoticed. "Do you imagine that Mithian is sitting in some lonely tower, waiting for a prince- or a king- to come and sweep her off her feet and carry her off to a happily ever after in a land she's never been to? She's probably as excited about this proposal as you are, Arthur, and if we've been hearing nothing but overblown flattery from Nemeth's envoy, is she hearing any differently from Camelot's? Everyone flatters royalty to win their favor. How many offer the gift of the truth?"

"Not nearly enough," Arthur said. He glanced up at the high windows where rain still fell in wavering sheets. Pale lightning flashed now and then, brightening the deep hallway with patches of flickering color. "Are you sure this will work?"

"What is it the priests of your god say? 'The truth shall set you free'?" Merlin asked, a smirk tugging at his lips.

Arthur's mouth dropped open and he snapped it shut again, wiping the withering glare off his face. Such expressions didn't affect Merlin anymore. "My other advisors don't answer questions with questions," he muttered, looking up at a recessed arch where a hint of movement caught his eye. He heard a faint click- a peculiar, familiar sound he couldn't quite place.

"'Other advisors'?" Merlin chirped, "I'm moving up in the world then, If that's the case-"

"Merlin, get down!" Arthur grabbed the sorcerer's arm and shoved him against the bannister, throwing himself to the side and landing on the stone steps with a bone-jarring thud. Something cracked against the stairs above them, sending sparks flying. Arthur reached out to catch it before it skittered away. He stared at it for a heartbeat, hardly comprehending the crossbow bolt in his hand.

He looked up to the archway where he had seen the movement moments before. A flicker of lightning lit the hallway long enough for him to find their assailant clinging to the stonework. He saw him make a quick motion with his weapon and take aim again. Arthur staggered to his feet and grabbed for Merlin to pull him off the stairs and into the shadows, out of harm's way.

But Merlin wasn't defenseless. He'd seen, in his way, the direction of Arthur's gaze. His eyes shone gold, and he looked up at their assailant, now hidden in the darkness, and saw straight through it all. The gold burned brighter.

 _"Tobrecan,"_ Merlin hissed. Wood snapped above them. Arthur heard a muffled grunt, and a broken crossbow hit the stone floor in half a dozen pieces. There came a scrabbling from the arch, and Merlin called out again, _"Astrice!"_

The assassin tumbled to the floor with the crack of bone. He let out a muffled cry as he rolled away, stumbling upright before finding his footing and disappearing down the hall.

"Guards!" Arthur's cry was lost in the racket Cabal's barking. The dog bounded to where the splintered crossbow lay and let out another sharp bark before looking back at Merlin. The sorcerer held a trembling hand out, summoning the hound back to him.

"Sire?" The first of the guards reached the stairs. Arthur heard more approaching.

"That way," he gestured down the hallway, "A man, perhaps a head shorter than me. Dark clothes. He may have had dark skin, too, it was hard to say. Take him alive," Arthur ordered. The guard nodded sharply, directing a few of his fellows to go with him, and a handful more to escort the king to his chambers. "Are you all right?" Arthur helped Merlin get to his feet. The sorcerer's trembling hadn't subsided.

"Fine. You?"

"Fine. Come on. You," he snapped at one of the guards, "Summon Sir Leon if he's not already on his way. And Sir Lancelot as well. And you," he said to another, "Gather up that crossbow and have it thoroughly examined, then send someone up to that arch to see if the assassin left anything behind. He may have had an accomplice, so search the castle and-" he broke off as the sound of the warning bells rang out, bright against the thunder and the shouting, "Close the gates," he finished, gesturing for the men to be about their duties and trusting that they knew what to do.

It was probably for the best that Merlin hadn't dropped his seeing spell as the guards hurried them back to Arthur's chambers. He doubted if they would have stopped for him if he'd fallen, and Arthur didn't want to stay in the open any more than they had to be. If one assassin could hide in the shadows, why couldn't another? Leon met them at the door, hastily dressed but wide awake despite the late hour. Arthur brushed aside the knight's questions as they swept into his chambers. He slammed the crossbow bolt onto the table and stalked a few steps away, letting his anger cool before opening his mouth.

"Sire? What's happened?" Leon asked, "The guards said there was attempt on your life?"

Arthur's gaze flicked over to Merlin, who had stepped back into a shadow, doing his best to pretend he wasn't there. He took a long breath, releasing it slowly until he could speak without shouting. "Yes. There was an attempt. Obviously unsuccessful. Someone's hired man. A Southron, I think, though it was dark. I could be mistaken. Merlin knocked him off his perch, and he was injured in the fall, so that should slow him down. I-" he stopped short, noticing that a handful of guards had followed them into the room. "You. All of you. Out. Stay outside the door if you must, but I'm perfectly safe in here."

"Sire," they muttered before filing out.

Lancelot sidled past them on his way in, rumpled, but as wide awake as Leon had been. His eyes flicked from Leon to Arthur before resting on Merlin. "Is everyone all right?"

"We're fine. He missed with the first shot and didn't have a chance to take another. With luck, he'll be captured soon. Will you take Merlin back to your chambers and stay with him until all this gets sorted out?" Arthur gave the knight a level look, hoping he would understand the unspoken order, _'Keep him safe until we know there won't be another attack'._

"Of course," Lancelot nodded.

Merlin's brow knit in confusion, "I'm sure my own chambers are fine. Why do I-"

"Merlin," Arthur's tone brooked no argument, "Don't argue with me. Not right now. For once, just do as you're told." The sorcerer looked ready to argue the point, then regarded him for a long moment and nodded.

"Let me know if anything changes," Lancelot murmured to Leon as he, Merlin, and Cabal headed out the door.

Leon waited until they were alone before speaking again, "Why are you sending Merlin there. Surely Gaius's chambers are safe enough?"

"Because if there is another assassin waiting, I think the most likely place for him to be waiting is along the way to Gaius's." Arthur held the bolt up to the firelight. It was a wicked looking thing, made for a light crossbow- a weapon with a shorter range, but far more accurate in its firing than its heavier counterpart, and just as deadly.

"He was waiting for us there. He knew we'd be in that hallway," Arthur mused, "That speaks of. . . what? Habit? I don't make it a habit of wandering the halls by night." But Merlin did. Arthur's jaw clenched and his fingers tightened around the bolt. "Bring Pynell to me. I don't care what state he's in. Bring him now."

"But. . . Pynell?" Leon frowned at the order, "Why Lord Pynell? What reason would he have to attack you?"

"None, I should hope," Arthur looked up at the knight, his gaze intense, "But Pynell threatened Merlin's life two weeks ago, and that assassin wasn't aiming at me. He was aiming at Merlin."

* * *

The sun was just peering over the horizon when Arthur, his nerves still jangling from the night's events, knocked on Lancelot's door. The delay in answering was long enough that he wondered if everyone inside had fallen asleep, then Lancelot open the door, fully dressed. His eyes were shadowed, his features drawn and tired, but he seemed ready for the day otherwise. He stepped aside to let Arthur in, eyeing the guards before the king waved them off.

Gwaine was there, too. They had set up a friendly dice game on a side table, though no money was at stake. Playing for bragging rights, then, or what amounted to them. Or just to keep boredom at bay. Arthur glanced around the room, half-acknowledging Gwaine's greeting. "Where's Merlin?"

"Asleep," Lancelot whispered, nodding back to the shadowed bed where, now that his eyes had adjusted to the dimness, Arthur could see a figure buried to the nose in blankets, topped by a familiar mop of black hair. One scarred hand had escaped the covers, the long fingers trailing over the edge of the bed, while Cabal had draped himself across Merlin's feet. "Gwaine drugged him." There was a note of reproach in Lancelot's voice.

The knight held his hands up in mock surrender. "Gaius told me to. He got here right after I did, maybe an hour after everything happened and there's Merlin, nervous as a new bride, and Lancelot not doing a thing to calm him down."

"I was, too," Lancelot scowled.

Gwaine ignored him, "So instead of letting him fret 'til he collapsed, Gaius gave me a potion to give Merlin so he'd get some sleep for once. It worked, too. He hasn't stirred since then. He'll probably sleep until noon."

"He was pretty irritated when he figured out what you'd done. Before he passed out, anyway," Lancelot smirked. "You should be gone when he wakes up."

"I've done worse things to worse people, and I'm still here." Gwaine gave them a sunny smile and laced his fingers behind his head as leaned back in his chair.

"Well, they can't fling you out a window with a thought because they're irritated," Lancelot shot back.

"Anyway," Arthur interrupted before their bickering escalated, "I suppose you've already heard something of what happened last night?"

"That you were shot at in the middle of the night, and while everyone thinks the assassin was aiming at you, he was really aiming at Merlin?" Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Come on, Princess. Merlin's not an idiot, and neither are we. Someone threatens him, and not so long after that someone else levels a crossbow in his direction? You don't have to be a genius to put together clues like that." Gwaine tilted his chair back a bit further on its back legs, and Arthur wondered just how much farther he could push it before he fell over.

"Did he say anything about it? Lord Pynell, I mean. We heard you'd sent for him." Lancelot pulled Merlin's coat off the back of a chair and lay it aside before offering the chair to Arthur.

"No. He denied everything," Arthur sank into the chair and rubbed his gritty eyes, recalling the venom in that particular conversation. It had taken every drop of self-discipline Arthur had to keep from punching Pynell in the face. "He even denied he'd threatened Merlin, though I did get an earful about giving such 'loathsome heathens free reign to wander the countryside and spread their poison about'. Not that we've heard of that many sorcerers in Camelot recently." Arthur shook his head. "Since there was no evidence to link him to the assassin, I had to let him go. But I doubt we've heard the end of this."

"He's an old man, with old ideas. He's never going to let this go," Lancelot said. Arthur nodded and looked back at Merlin. The knight followed the line of his gaze. "You know," he said softly, "he was a wreck because he thought he'd put you in danger."

"That doesn't surprise me. But it was probably best I was there," Arthur said. Lancelot gave him a puzzled look. "Do you think he would have recognized the sound of a crossbow being loaded? And even if he had, would he have gotten out of the way in time?"

The knight shrugged. "Maybe not. But there's a lot he can see, even without eyes to see it."

"He can't see everything," Arthur said. "It was best this way. We're both fine, the assassin was caught, and now that we know Pynell's threat was real, we can deal with it. I just wish he'd said something about it earlier." There came a rustling from the bed and they all glanced over. Merlin’s breathing quickened, his brow furrowing. A soft, almost keening sound came from his throat.

Arthur winced and knelt by the bed, smoothing the blankets over Merlin’s back and ready with a soft word should Merlin awaken from whatever dream or nightmare was flashing through his mind. But whatever drug Gaius had used kept the sorcerer deep in sleep.

"You know that's not his way, to mention his own problems. He worries about everyone but himself," Lancelot smiled sadly before looking back at Arthur. "Did he say anything? The assassin? You said he'd been caught."

"No. He couldn't say anything at all. His tongue was cut out long ago. I don't think he's from anywhere in the five kingdoms, though. By his coloring, I'd say he's from the same part of the world as Stilicho. Blaise's assistant," Arthur added at Gwaine's confused look. "That doesn't help much, and he'll hang, regardless. Still. This is just beginning." He scrubbed his hands over his face and through his hair to wake himself up a bit more. "But things are taken care of for now. You two should get some rest. I . . . " he sighed and pressed to his feet, looking back at Merlin one last time before turning to leave, "I am going to go and write a an uncomfortable letter to a very great lady."

* * *

"Are you ever going to read it?" Merlin asked.

Arthur looked up from his desk to where the sorcerer slouched in a chair by the table, fiddling with the lacings of one of the braces on his wrists. "Maybe you haven't noticed, Merlin, but I have a lot of work to do today. I don't have the time to indulge your curiosity." He scratched his signature onto the topmost parchment and set it aside, making sure to rustle it to emphasize the point. Then he glanced toward Gareth and winked. He couldn't keep the charade up if his co-conspirator couldn't keep his mouth shut. The boy grinned and turned back to his book. "Have you found Morgana yet?"

Merlin raised an eyebrow at the change in subject. "Not for lack of trying. But I'm not looking for a lost shoe. She doesn't want to found, and nothing I've done has been able to get through what she's put up to keep me from finding her. On the bright side, she hasn't been able to spy on us, so all we've managed to do is be mutually aggravating."

"That sounds familiar," Arthur said as he shuffled through the reports.

"Yes. You're extremely aggravating. Now are you going to read Princess Mithian's letter, or are you just going to leave me in the dark?" Merlin asked. Ironic, given that he was sitting in a patch of late morning sunshine.

"I'm the king, Merlin. It's in my purview to ignore a servant's questions." He glanced over the next parchment and grimaced. Yet another sticking point in the negotiations with Nemeth. This list was unending, though the major issue, the one Arthur had worried over the most, had been resolved just that morning with the arrival of Mithian's letter. He had already read it, but Merlin didn't know that. For the moment, leaving him in the figurative dark was amusing, given his fidgeting over the letter's contents. Arthur would tell him soon enough. "Mithian's letter is not what I'm worried about right now. If you can think of something to do about the wine merchants and their complaints about the new tariffs, then I'll think about the letter. I'm sick of their complaints."

"They're merchants. It's part of their job to complain about how high their taxes are." Merlin's brow knit in annoyance when he unwound one of the knots in the lacing. He set about re-tying it, his clever fingers accomplishing the task in a few moments. "Is this about the honey wine imports?"

"Yes."

Merlin counted something off on his fingers, then shrugged. "You could remind them that ten years ago, imports were a third the current levels, and the taxes were twice what they are now. If they're unhappy with what they're paying, you could suggest a return to historic levels and see if that pleases them. It's just a suggestion, though." He turned toward Gareth, smiling faintly at the laugh the boy failed to smother.

"I'll be sure to pass it along. It'll be fun to see which shade of red the guild representative will turn this time." He scratched his signature onto another parchment and set it aside. "Speaking of honey wine. Have you quite forgiven Gwaine yet? The merchants' complaints aren't the only ones I'm tired of hearing."

"Of course I have," Merlin smiled, "But if it irritates him to drag it out further, then I'm going to."

"It's irritating me." Arthur glanced back up at the sorcerer, "And since my opinion matters more, you ought to tell him. It's been three weeks. And he didn't act alone. Gaius gave him that potion. They were only trying to help."

"I already talked to Gaius. He said he wouldn't do it again. It's just funny to hear Gwaine come up with outlandish apologies. Besides," his smile fell away, "I'm tired of people deciding things for me and doing things to me without so much as a 'by your leave'. I'm as recovered as I'm going to get, and I'm fully capable of making my own decisions. I'm not-" Merlin checked himself, drawing in a long breath before the growing heat in his voice could boil over. "I am not a child. Nor am I defenseless," he finished.

"I know that," Arthur said softly.

"Sometimes it feels like you're the only one." Merlin melted back against the chair, his thumb tracing lazy circles over his right arm. He closed his eyes. Arthur could see he was falling into a grey mood, despite the sunlight.

He watched the sorcerer for a moment, then set his pen aside and took up Mithian's letter. The parchment was still curled, so he rolled it out on the desk and set a weight upon it, smoothing the rest down with a hand. "I was going to draw this all out a little longer, but I guess now seems as good a time as any."

Merlin turned to regard him in that odd way of his- seeing without seeing. "You've already read it, haven't you?" A smile lit his face. "I guess I should have known, as impatient as you are. Go on, then. What'd she say?"

Arthur cleared his throat and focused on the lines of Mithian's elegant script.

_"To His Most Gracious Majesty, Arthur, King of Camelot,_

_First and foremost, I wish to thank you for your letter and the candor you showed in it. I was not insulted by it. Quite the opposite. When so many seek royal favor by means of flattery and deception, the truth you told came as a breath of fresh air. They say that a happy king makes for a happy kingdom, and I cannot help but think that, had we succumbed to the weight of politics and been wed, that we would have been a most unhappy pair. Perhaps in another world, you and I might have been made for each other. Alas that this is the only world we have. It is best that we face truth, declare that our hearts do not beat as one, and admit it before the bonds of marriage seal an unhappy fate._

_Perhaps one day we will meet as friends, for I do not wish for this to break the bonds of friendship that have kept our two lands at peace for so long. And, I must admit, I wish to meet this blacksmith's daughter who has managed to win the heart of Arthur Pendragon. She must be a very great lady indeed, to trump a princess. I would give half my kingdom to be so loved._

_I wish you all the happiness in the world, and may God grant you many long years together in peace and prosperity._

_By My Own Hand, Mithian, Princess of Nemeth"_

Arthur re-rolled the parchment and glanced up at Merlin. "I'm waiting for the 'I told you so'."

Merlin laughed, his gray mood driven away. "I don't think I need to say it. What are you going to do now that you're free again?" He straightened, waiting.

"First off, I'm using you as a distraction." Merlin rolled his eyes. "Go find Guinevere and keep her busy until sunset."

"How?"

"I don't know," Arthur scowled, "You're supposed to be clever. I'm sure you'll think of something."

Merlin drummed his fingers on the table, "Well, I suppose Gaius is always needing some herb or another from the forest. And if you want Guinevere out of the way for a while, I'm guessing it'd be a good idea to have Elyan come along, too. So. To the forest we go." He rolled to his feet and headed for the door, Cabal at his heels, then paused with the door half-open and turned to Arthur. He opened his mouth, about to say something, and stopped. A broad grin spread across his face and he slipped through the door, closing it gently behind him.

"I do believe I'm being mocked by my own servants," Arthur sighed.

"I didn't say anything," Gareth said, his eyes wide.

"I know." Arthur folded his hands together to keep from fidgeting. It was one thing to plan a proposal. It was quite another to set those plans into motion. If he was stupidly nervous now, how much worse would it be when he faced Guinevere later? 'Love does make fools of us all.'

"George is gathering the candles?" Gareth nodded. "Go and tell Gaius he needs to have Merlin gather some herb or another from the forest, so if anyone asks. . . "

"Everyone will have the story straight. Yes, sire," Gareth grinned and practically bounded out of the room. Arthur watched him go. The boy's energy was appalling.

He crossed over to the window and watched the people coming and going in the square below. With Midsummer's Day fast approaching, the city was green and awash in brilliant sunlight. Leon's prediction of a peaceful summer had come true, and even Pynell's complaints hadn't dimmed the bright outlook. The only thing left to trouble Arthur's mind on this day was a woman, and her answer to a simple, but impossible question. And sunset was hours away. _'This is going to be a long day.'_

 

* * *

 

They had filled the room with candles.

In the last light of evening, with the sunset painting the sky with broad strokes of purples and pinks, and the first of the night's stars sparking in the velvet darkness, Guinevere's humble little house looked magical. Merlin himself couldn't have conjured anything lovelier. The only element the scene wanted was the woman herself.

They'd returned from their excursion to the forest. Arthur had seen Merlin on his way out of the castle, but not Guinevere, who was likely seeing to Drusilla's evening needs and would be home soon. It couldn't happen quickly enough for Arthur's liking. His stomach had been in knots for ages, and a single, circular line of thought had been making its rounds through his head for nearly as long. _"She'll say 'yes'. Of course she will. Why wouldn't she? She loves me, and I love her, so of course the answer will be 'yes'. But what if I'm just trying to make myself feel better? What if I'm just imagining things? What if she says 'no'? But she won't say 'no'. She'll say 'yes'. Of course she will."_

Arthur was near to wearing a track in the floor from his constant pacing when the door rattled and opened. He spun on a heel, his breath catching at the sight of Guinevere illuminated by dozens of candles. "Arthur," she said, eyes sparkling, "What's all this?"

"Guinevere," he breathed, smiling in spite of his nervousness. "Come here." He held his hands out to her, and she closed the gap between them, her hands small in his. He led her to a chair by the table and sat her down. Then he dropped to a knee in front of her, still holding her hands. Her eyes widened, and the delight fell away from her face, replaced by something like shock.

"Guinevere," he said again, rolling the sound of her name around on his tongue. "Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"

She gasped, uncomprehending for a moment. Then she flung herself forward and wrapped her arms around him, her shoulders shaking with what Arthur hoped were happy tears. He put an arm around her, winding his fingers into her hair, just holding her. "I'm confused," he said after a while, "Is that a 'yes'?"

Guinevere pulled away from him. Her dark eyes sparkled like starlight, her smile shining like the sun at spring's first dawn. "I'm sorry. Yes. Yes. With all my heart, yes," she laughed. He returned her smile, speechless. Overwhelmed. What else was there to say? What else was there to do, except slip the ring onto her finger and gaze into those endless eyes? The eyes of his love, and his future Queen.

* * *

It didn't take a genius or a scrying spell to know what Arthur was up to, and no matter how the king tried to hide it from the knights, he hadn't been able to. They had gathered, the five of them plus Merlin, and were waiting on the stairs at the main palace doors. Enjoying the warm air, the stars singing above, and the gentle camaraderie they had all come to know.

Merlin leaned forward, elbows on his knees and eyes slipping shut as he soaked it all in. Even without eyes, he could read the other men's moods. One might even say his reading of them was better for it, because he couldn't see their surfaces and the expressions they used to hide what they felt.

Gwaine and Percival were jubilant. Leon, confused but tentatively excited, while Elyan brooded in an upbeat silence, pondering what Guinevere's answer- whichever one it might be- would mean for both of them.

And Lancelot . . . For all the happiness he wished for Guinevere, Merlin knew the knight wished things had gone differently.

His attention drifted away from the knights, senses stretching out wide through the night air, taking in the bright moods of the city's people, the quiet thrum of the earth below, and all the stars above. Merlin wasn't sure when he had begun to hear their song again. Their music had, softly, slipped back into his mind without his noticing until one night, he realized they had been there all along, clear as the bells of Camelot.

A new note sounded, like a breeze through harp strings, a melody written by time or Fate winding a new voice into its song. Merlin opened his eyes, a smile widening on his face.

"Merlin? What is it?" Lancelot asked.

Suddenly, all the world seemed to be celebrating at least as much as Camelot's king- and future Queen- must have been. "She said 'yes'," Merlin laughed. "She said 'yes'."

* * *

The days passed in a whirlwind. Once the royal wedding was announced, the city erupted into a frenzy of preparations. It seemed that food enough to feed the whole kingdom had arrived for the various feasts, while enough roses to drown Camelot in a sea of red, pink, and white petals sprouted overnight. And no one, not even the nobleborn wags decrying Arthur's raising a commoner to Queen, was going to be absent for the celebration, prompting everyone with a drop of noble blood to refurbish their wardrobes. It wouldn't do to have a thread out of place, after all, when the finest citizens in the realm were gathering to witness the crowning of Camelot's first Queen in twenty-five years.

Some were gathering to see if Guinevere, the Commoner-Queen, as she had been dubbed by some highbrow gossips, would crack under the strain and make a fool of herself. A few duels had already been fought in Guinevere's name. Gwaine had broken one man's nose. Lancelot shattered another's arm. After that, the jibes were quieter. Merlin heard them all the same, but let them pass. They didn't know what threads of steel bound Guinevere's bones together. If they did, they would take care to keep their tongues behind their teeth.

His own role, by choice, in the festivities was almost non-existent. Arthur had asked, then Guinevere had, if he wanted some part in the ceremony. He had waved if off, 'The people have had enough changes in the past year. A sorcerer serving in the king's wedding party might be more than they can handle." It was best to let Arthur and Guinevere have their day in the sun, and keep the shadows out of sight for a time.

Finally, after what felt to Merlin like endless rounds of jousts and tournaments, fittings for a new suit of clothes, pre-wedding rites and minor celebrations, Midsummer's Day dawned without a cloud in the sky. Even the birds sounded excited.

Merlin rose with the sun and donned his new clothes, submitting to Gaius's fussing for once, letting the old physician fasten the buttons on the sleeves.

"Are you sure you'll be all right?" Gaius fretted, though Merlin thought his unease had more to do with wedding formalities and the accompanying legal niceties than any doubt about Merlin's abilities to find breakfast and make his way to the great hall.

"I'll be fine, Gaius. If the worst that happens today is my being thwarted by some buttons, I think we can call it a success." There was a flicker of doubt- or worry- in the physcian's demeanor. Merlin rested a hand on his shoulder. "If anything monumental was going to go wrong today, I think I would have Seen something. Lord Pynell is too shrewd to be so obvious, and I haven't heard a whisper out of Morgana in months."

"That's what worries me," Gaius sighed, "I should be going. The council will be meeting with Arthur soon. There's so much to do before the noon bell rings. Really, sometimes it seems like there are far too many rituals that go along with a royal wedding. Countryside weddings are brief, filled with as much joy, and with much less fuss involved." He shook his head and gathered his things. "When you get married, Merlin, promise me that you won't put me through so much fuss as this. I'm not getting any younger."

"Oh, don't worry, Gaius," he said without thinking, almost as though he wasn't the one speaking at all, "I never will get married." He stopped, thought back on what he'd just said. "I will never marry," he said. The words held the ring of truth in them. And a little of prophecy. His smile faded.

"Merlin," Gaius’s voice dropped, and he touched Merlin’s arm hesitantly. "Prophecy doesn't always mean what you think it does. You're very young still, though sometimes you don't think so. You have a long time ahead of you to find someone."

Merlin gave him a wry smile. "I appreciate your trying to cheer me up, but some things I just know. And anyway. Today is not for me. Not at all. You have things to see to. You should go and see to them. I'll be along after a while."

"Are you sure, Merlin? I can stay if-"

"I will be fine." Merlin put his hands on the physician's shoulders and turned him about, giving him a gentle push toward the door. "You have things to do this morning. Arthur's nervous enough. If the ceremony is delayed a moment longer than it needs to be, I think he'll faint in front of everyone, and then where will we be?"

Gaius sighed and looked back at him. "Nowhere good. Very well, then. I will see you after the ceremony?"

"Of course. Now go." Merlin kept the smile on his face until Gaius closed the door behind him, then dropped onto the nearest chair. He rubbed his eyes and let himself indulge in that old, wild imagining of the life he might have had with Freya. A life where they had broken the curse that lay upon her and fled to some far away place- Éire perhaps, or the lands beyond Brittany- where they would have had a little house beside a mountain lake, and no one would have bothered them. A life lived on their own terms. _"But if that had come to pass, Arthur would be dead, Camelot a ruin, and Albion might be a land of ashes."_

Merlin sighed and pushed away the old dream. He stepped toward the window, imagining he could see the morning sunlight and soaked in its warmth for a while. "Well," he said to the air, "There's no sense in standing around moping. This is a supposed to be a happy day. Time to go and be happy."

The halls were alive with servants and nobles alike, each rushing to one appointment or another, desperate to finish their tasks before the appointed hour. Merlin dodged them all, unruffled by the commotion. Once, he would have been one of those racing around, but not now. " _That's a nice feeling. Not to be in a hurry for once."_ The smile hadn't left his face when he reached Drusilla's chambers where Guinevere was preparing for the day. He knocked on the door. Moments later, someone answered. A young woman with an air of sweetness and rosebuds about her. Elayne.

"Good morning, Lady Elayne. How is she?"

"Good morning, Merlin," the girl's breathy voice betrayed her excitement, "Nervous enough she couldn't eat anything this morning, but oh!" she giggled, "She's beautiful!"

"I didn't expect anything less. May I see her?"

"I'll ask." The door clicked shut again, but Elayne wasn't gone for long before she returned and ushered him in. "It's not traditional, to let anyone see the bride before, but," she must have shrugged, "I suppose it's not the most traditional of royal weddings. My Lady, Merlin is here to see you."

"Oh, Elayne, I'm not a Lady yet," Guinevere said, her voice colored with anxiety and the faintest bit of reproach. Not that it was going to quell Elayne's bright spirits. They were shining today- she, and Drusilla- but none of them moreso than the bride. "Merlin," Guinevere said, the rustle of silk skirts marking her movement, "What are you doing here? It's bad luck to see the bride before her wedding."

He held his hands toward her, his smile widening when she took them and her anxious trembling stilled. "But I can't see you. Not in the way that tradition states, so there's no bad luck to be had." He looked toward the windows. Outside, the city bells rang to mark the hour of Sext. The wedding would begin in a few hours, when the sun had risen to noon. "It's not long now. How are you?"

"I can't decide if I'm the happiest I've ever been, or if I'm just going to be sick." Her hands tightened on his. "I'm a bit terrified, too. What if I trip, or say the words wrong? What if I start crying? What if everyone laughs at me? Right now, I feel like a bumbling servant trying her mistresses clothes on while she's not at home. I don't feel like I belong in this." She brushed a hand over her skirt, setting beads and pearls to rattling faintly.

"Gwen. Queen Guinevere. This is the place you were always meant to have, at Arthur's side, as his queen. I've known that for a long time. It was only a matter of when. We all have our parts to play in this. . . this story of ours. But this was always meant to be your role," Merlin said.

"And you've always known that?" Guinevere asked, a note of wonder replacing some of the fear in her voice.

"Not always," he said, "But for a long time, now. And your names will live long in the hearts of men." Prophecy rang in his words for a moment, then slipped away.

"How do you know that?"

"Because I know you." Merlin took both her hands again and smiled. Then he lowered himself to one knee, bowed his head, and kissed the back of her hand. "My Queen."

Guinevere gasped, "Merlin. . . "

"I was the first to kneel to my king, and now I am the first to kneel to my queen. I wouldn't have it any other way." He squeezed her fingers and laughed.

"What?"

"Oh, just remembering something you said once, a long time ago. You asked me, 'Who would want to marry Arthur?' Did you ever imagine, then, that it would be you?"

Guinevere laughed, then, and the tension flowed away. "Not in my wildest dreams. He was. . . such a child then. You were good for him, Merlin. You helped make him the man he is today. Look at us, getting all sentimental. And speaking of sentiment," she pulled him to his feet and rustled away, returning a moment later to press a small box into his hands, "This, well, it's from both of us, really, but you know how Arthur is about sentiment. Go on, open it."

"You're the one who's supposed to be receiving the gifts today," He raised an eyebrow, but did as he was bid. Inside the box lay a thin chain with a pendant inlaid with a winding design his fingers couldn't quite map out. "What is it?"

"The Tree of Life. Arthur found it in your book and asked Gaius what it was, and Gaius said it was a symbol of the Old Religion, but not one used by the High Priestesses, and they both thought it would suit you when I suggested the pendant, and . . . " Her rushing words trailed to a halt. "Do you like it?"

"I will never take it off. I'm just not sure about the clasp," he admitted.

"That's easily fixed. Here. Turn around." She set the slender chain around his throat, setting the clasp so the pendant hung just below his collarbone, then fussed with his collar so it would sit just so. "There. I think that will work."

"Thank you." He brushed his fingers over the pendant. It felt almost warm, as though it glowed from within. "Wait," his brow knit, "You said Arthur saw the drawing in my book? Do you have it, then?"

"Yes. Well, Arthur does. Why?"

"I thought it had been lost. I- I didn't even think to ask about it, after . . . "

"You didn't really think he'd toss it away, did you?" Guinevere asked gently.

"I don't know. No, I suppose not. But . . . I can't read or write, and trying to explain it all to a scribe," he spread his hands wide, trying to convey just how hopeless a problem it seemed. "Well, it sounded like an exercise in futility. I didn't even think to ask about it."

"I can write, you know. And everyone says I have a very fine hand. One of these days, we'll pick up where you left off, all right?" She took his hands again, her slender fingers warm against his.

"All right," he smiled again.

"My Lady," Drusilla spoke up from the corner where she'd been trying to be unobtrusive. "We still have preparations to make before your brother arrives, and we've not not much time."

"Of course. I'm sorry. I don't mean to chase you away, Merlin, but-"

"Duty calls," Merlin said. "I understand. I should see to Arthur, anyway. Make sure he doesn't faint or put his clothes on backward." He got the laugh he was looking for. He turned to go and paused at the doorway, looking back one more time, letting his inner eye take in the image of the brilliant woman where she stood in a pool of light. To the law, she was not Queen yet, but to Destiny? To Destiny- and to Merlin- the radiance of a Queen already burned within.

* * *

Arthur paced. The clack of his heels against the floor was loud in his ears, almost irritating. But it kept his mind off the scent of food wafting from the tray George had left on the table, and just how much it made his roiling stomach want to revolt. His hands were shaking. Battle was nothing compared to weddings when it came to rattling one's nerves. He turned toward the window, throwing a glance back at Gareth. "Take that away. I'm not going to eat it. You might as well take it to someone who will," Arthur said, gesturing at the tray. "Eat it yourself, for all I care. Just don't do it here."

Gareth opened his mouth to say something, then his lips curled up in a knowing smile. "Yes, sire," he said. He took up the tray and nudged the door open with a foot, murmuring a greeting to someone outside.

The door closed, and Arthur heard the scuff of a footstep behind him. Apparently, he wasn't meant to have a moment of quiet to himself this morning. "Whatever it is, George," he said without turning from the window, "I don't care. Unless we're under attack, I don't care who does what with anything today. Just have someone decide. Someone else."

"Why is it you're always mistaking me for George?" Merlin asked. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you liked him better. Is it his brass polishing abilities? Because he is quite good at that, but on the whole, I'd say he's rather annoying."

Arthur chuckled, and some of the tension dissolved. "Annoying, yes, but he's a far better servant than you ever were. He's always on time, never wakes me up by yanking the curtains open, doesn't insult me. I could go on if you'd like."

"And yet you never dragged him out on hunts or to battle with you, so I couldn't have been all that terrible at it." Merlin stood by the door as though guarding it, looking almost noble in the shades of blue and silvery gray Guinevere had chosen for him. Arthur caught a glint of silver at his friend's throat, the pendant he and Guinevere had had made for him. His eyes seemed clearer in the morning light.

"If there's someone who is even more hopeless than you are at staying quiet in the forest, it's George. Given a choice between 'noisy' and 'slightly less noisy', I think I'll have to go with the latter." Arthur grinned and came away from the window, stopping by the table to lean against the back of a chair. His hands were steadier now. "You've been to see Guinevere, then?"

Merlin tilted his head, confused for a moment. Then his fingers brushed the pendant. "Ah. Yes, I did. She's every bit as nervous as you are."

"How did she look?"

"Elayne said she was beautiful, so I took her word for it. To me, she shone as brightly as she usually does." A pensive look colored his expression, "Maybe a little brighter today."

"I'd hope so," Arthur said quietly. He moved around the chair and dropped into it, not caring if it wrinkled his fine clothes. Thinking of Guinevere and of what today meant was making his stomach all fluttery again. "What does the world look like to you now?" he blurted, searching for anything to talk about that didn't involve the wedding. "You said you don't see the surface of things- of people- anymore. What does that mean?"

Merlin raised an eyebrow, thinking. "What does the world look like to me? It's . . . shadowed. Like walking at night under a half moon, and all the color is bleached away. Living things sort of glow, and people are like . . . shadows or ghosts lit from within. Some are dim and barely shine at all while others are lit like torches. There are a few- touched by Fate, or whatever you want to call it- who shine like the sun." The sorcerer's uncanny gaze fixed on Arthur and he had a feeling that, to Merlin, he was one of those who shone the brightest. "And . . . It's not something I meant to do. It just started building, and then one day I realized I could sort of sense who was around me. Get a feeling of what they were, not just who. Like I could see past whatever masks they hid behind and know what they were truly like beneath all the layers. I don't know if it makes any sense, but. . . Camelot has been very loud in the past few weeks." Merlin's smile faded a little. He looked tired. Arthur could relate.

"It has been a little overwhelming, hasn't it?" Arthur's gaze wandered across the array of finery laid out on the table. The sword of the king of Camelot, the chain of his kingship, the robes of state. His crown. The heavy signet ring already weighed his hand down. And soon enough, a golden wedding ring would grace his finger. The anxiety returned full force. Arthur clenched his fist to keep his hand from shaking again. "Am I doing the right thing today?"

"In marrying Guinevere?" Merlin stepped to the table, his fingers spidering along the surface until they brushed over the sword. "King Arthur and Queen Guinevere. A love for the ages." His smile brightened. "There was never any question that your paths were meant to wind together. Not in my mind. Not in hers. You only doubt today because you're nervous, and that will pass soon enough." His head tilted, his gaze flicking toward the window where outside, the bells were ringing again.

Arthur took in a long breath. He shook when he exhaled, so he took another, breathing out slowly and forcing himself into calmness. He rose, waiting until the bells stopped their tolling. "It's not long now."

"No," Merlin said. His fingers slid under the sword and he raised it off the table, the sheathed blade resting across his open palms. He looked up at Arthur. "Are you ready?"

"Not quite." Arthur straightened his shoulders and walked around the table. Merlin turned toward him, took a half step away from the table, and for the second time Arthur could remember, knelt, raising the jeweled blade to the level of his bowed head. "Merlin . . . "

"Your Majesty."

The last of Arthur's anxieties vanished when he wrapped his hands around the sword, as though Merlin's steadfastness had transferred through the blade and into him. "Thank you, Merlin," Arthur said softly. He glanced from the sorcerer to the finery that still lay on the table. "Now are you going to sit there all day, or are you going to help me with the rest of this?"

Merlin laughed and stood. "Just this once, I suppose." He gathered up the chain of kingship, waiting until Arthur had buckled the sword belt around his waist before stepping up to set the chain over his shoulders, and then the cloak. It was a quiet ritual they had been through so many times before that neither needed to speak until Merlin held the crown up for Arthur. "Are you ready now?"

He nodded, the crown's weight resting easily upon his head for the first time. "Now I am."

There was a knock at the door, and Leon peered in. "Sire, it's time."

"So it is," Arthur said, a genuine smile spreading across his face.

"Good luck." Merlin grinned just as brightly.

The day passed in a series of blurs after that, Arthur's spirits so high he seemed to float wherever he went, answering questions by rote and noticing nothing until the doors of the Great Hall opened to reveal Guinevere, resplendent in purple silk and golden trim. Arthur might have remembered Elyan by her side, and maybe the entire hall was full of people, but in those moments, Guinevere might as well have been the only only other person in the world, her face the only one he ever wanted to see again. He vaguely remembered saying, "Thereto, I plight thee my troth," and slipping a ring onto her finger, but time didn't return to its normal pace until he held his mother's crown- now Guinevere's- and placed it upon his bride's head with the words, "I crown thee, Guinevere, Queen of Camelot."

He took her hands and raised her up to stand beside him, in sight of the entire court. Then it was real. Their first kiss as husband and wife, like their first kiss ever, was lit by the same golden afternoon light, binding them together forever.

King Arthur and Queen Guinevere.

* * *

"My little sister," Elyan began, "is . . . My little sister. My little sister is Queen of Camelot. My. Little. Sister. Queen Guinevere." His voice was muffled by his hands. "I used to rub leaves in her hair."

"You'd best stop that if you haven't already, mate," Gwaine laughed. "I don't think his Royal Highness will stand for a leafy-haired queen. Especially on a night like this. Although there is something to be said for a tryst out in the forest in the moonlight. Depending on the night and the woman, it might be more fun than fancy bed in a castle." Merlin heard the thump of Cabal's tail against the floor as the knight gave him another round of table scraps.

"Gwaine." Elyan's voice was flat.

"I'm just saying. A moonlit forest has its charms. There was this time when I was in Mercia-"

"We really don't want to hear it, Gwaine." Merlin shook his head and rubbed his eyes. He'd dropped his spell-sight earlier in the evening, when the crowd in the great hall had set his inner eye ablaze with light. The headache was wearing away, at least. "And stop feeding Cabal. You're going to make him sick."

"He looks hungry. Don't you ever feed him? And anyway. It's a funny story, about the woman in Mercia-"

Leon cut Gwaine off this time. "No one wants to hear your 'funny' stories, Gwaine. They're only funny to you." There was a murmuring of assent from around the room. They'd gathered in Lancelot's chambers, since they were closest to the great hall and no one wanted to walk far. In Gwaine's case, he probably couldn't walk far. Elyan and Percival had collected chairs from elsewhere, and with the aid of a few bottles of wine and food pilfered from the remnants of the wedding feast, they'd managed to pull off their own, private celebration. But even that was winding to its end, though none of them was willing to go just yet.

"That's because none of you has a decent sense of humor. Go away, Cabal. There's no more for you. Merlin's going to turn me into a toad if I give you anything else. Go on." Gwaine said.

Cabal whined, but gave in and flopped down next to Merlin. He scratched the dog's ears, and it seemed the consolation was as good as whatever illicit treats Gwaine had given him. Merlin slouched against the chair and rubbed his eyes again.

"Are you all right?" Lancelot asked.

Merlin turned his head toward the knight and gave him a wan smile. "I'm fine. Just tired. It's been a long day." The wedding feast and its accompanying entertainments had stretched on toward midnight. It wasn't until the bells tolled the late hour that Arthur and Guinevere had bid good-night to the court and departed, resolutely ignoring the drunken and ribald comments from courtiers who had more wine in them than sense.

"It has been long, hasn't it? But a good on, on the whole." Lancelot poured something into a cup and set it on the table next to Merlin. "There's some water if you want it. Or do you just want to get away from this noisy lot and get some sleep?"

"No, I like the company." He paused as Gwaine cracked a real joke that set the others to laughing. "Besides. Gaius went to bed ages ago, and he snores. I'm fine where I am. If I fall asleep in my chair, just poke me with a stick in the morning and tell me to go away." Merlin lifted his hand to rub at his eyes again and stopped mid-motion. It wouldn't help, he knew, and it would just set Lancelot to worrying even more. He took the silver pendant between his fingers instead, running a fingernail through the lines of the ever-winding pattern as he willed the headache away.

It didn't help that the field of darkness around him kept shifting, tricking his eyes into believing that something was there. He kept trying to focus on the insubstantial shapes. "You don't have to play nursemaid, you know. I'm perfectly fine."

"You're always trying to convince me of that. It hasn't quite worked yet." Merlin heard the smile in Lancelot's voice. "And anyway. It's quieter over here. None of them wants to bother you and risk getting turned into a toad."

"I wouldn't turn them into toads. Not for long, anyway. Arthur would insist I go and find replacements, and Guinevere would be upset that her brother was all bumpy and greenish. I don't want to hear from an upset Guinevere." Merlin grinned. A gray smudge appeared in the darkness, and he struggled not to try to focus on it.

"And I appreciate the fact that you're not going to fill my room with toads. I'll be right back." Lancelot laughed as he pushed out of his chair his footsteps receded toward the rest of the knights.

Merlin sighed, giving in to the ache and rubbing his eyes again. The smudge didn't go away. He frowned and turned toward the knights. The gray spot disappeared. It reappeared when he turned back to the table. It was still there when he swiped at his eyes again. An idea, strange and a little exciting, blossomed in his mind. He reached out, slowly, into the air in front of him, aiming for the point in space where the gray spot might have been. There was heat there. A flame. He jerked his hand back, an involuntary gasp escaping his lips. But still, the spot of gray was there. It was lighter now.

"Careful there, Merlin. You'll burn yourself on that candle," Gwaine said.

"I'm fine." Merlin reached toward the gray smudge again. Slower this time. His fingertips brushed the taper and twitched away from the hot beeswax that dripped down the side. He blinked and squinted again. A smile spread across his face. "I'm definitely fine," he whispered.

"It's just a candle, Merlin. That's all." Gwaine dropped into the chair across from Merlin before Lancelot could, prompting a quiet protest from the other knight.

Merlin didn't look toward either one of them. He kept his eyes fixed on the little gray smudge- the little spot of light in his field of vision. "It's the best candle in the world, Gwaine."

Their exchange caught the others' attention. Their conversation quieted, and Merlin felt their attention fix upon him. "I'll bite," Lancelot said. "Why is the best candle in the world?"

His hands trembled with his elation as he held them close to the little candle and its warmth. _'And not just warmth. . . '_ Merlin bit his lip to keep his tears at bay. He didn't want anything to make that little light go away, the first light he had truly seen for half a year. "It's the best candle in the world because I can see it." He didn't bother to contain his giddy laughter. "I can see it."

* * *

Sometime before dawn, while night still lay heavily over Camelot, Arthur woke. There was no sense of alarm or danger disturbing his sleep, just the wonderful strangeness of his bride curled up next to him. He picked out Guinevere's features in the dim light, the curve of her cheek and the dark arch of her brow. Her hair was fanned out behind her, save for a few, errant curls winding around her face. Arthur couldn't help but brush them away before tracing the elegant line of her bare shoulder.

Guinevere's eyes opened and focused on him. Her smile was full of sleepy contentment.

"Husband," she whispered, eyes sparkling.

"Wife," Arthur replied, then lay a kiss on her forehead before drawing her closer. Nothing more needed saying after that.

All was well in the Kingdom of Camelot.

 


End file.
